


I'm Here, Sweetheart

by DaftPunk_DeLorean



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt Tony, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Secret Relationship, Stony - Freeform, Superhusbands, Superhusbands (Marvel), Tony Whump, secret husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 00:44:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7131182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaftPunk_DeLorean/pseuds/DaftPunk_DeLorean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tony gets grievously injured at a press conference, Steve just about loses his mind with worry. And not only because they are best friends, or teammates, or colleagues. No one could blame Steve for his reaction, knowing that he and Tony were married. The problem was, no one knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Here, Sweetheart

**Author's Note:**

> Translated into [中文](http://www.hailstony.com/thread-3098-1-1.html) by the lovely faithyier

It hadn’t even happened in a battle. It hadn’t happened while Tony swooped gracefully through the sky, golden repulsors slicing through the air like lightning as he fought to keep people safe. It hadn’t happened while Steve struggled with the enemy on the ground and worried constantly about seeing a red and gold streak free-falling to the pavement below. 

It happened at a damn press conference. 

It wasn’t even Avengers business. Tony was releasing the patent on one of his most promising developments in sustainable green energy into the public domain. It was an unprecedented move, but Tony was adamant that this project was about helping people and preserving what they had left of their planet. It was about rebuilding destroyed cities and bringing together scattered families, not about making a profit. 

Steve was so proud of Tony (always so proud), and sat in the front row smiling up at him, while the press around him hung on Tony’s every word and laughed at his flirtatious banter. Tony was at ease in his bespoke suit of dove gabardine, casually leaning one elbow against the podium as he explained how the corps of engineers would be able to implement clean energy in disadvantaged areas so people could have continual water filtration and emissions-free heat, while sustainably rebuilding their communities. It really was a brilliant system, and could change the world as they knew it for the better.

Steve leaned back in his chair and watched Tony work his magic, so enthralled in the vision of an idealistic, progressive future that Tony wove for them, that he didn’t notice the very brief scuffle behind him until a rough shout startled everyone in the room.

 _“You let them die!”_ A man yelled, his reddened eyes wild and streaming tears, as two guards tried to wrestle him out of the room. “You let my kids die, you rich, worthless piece of shit! You just flew right over them in your goddamned fancy fuckin’ robot suit! You could have saved them! You- _you could have saved them!”_

Steve halfway rose out of his chair and turned to stare in shock at the man, just in time to see him pull a gun and fire three shots.

The room erupted in screams as the attendees dove for cover while guards tackled the man to the ground. For Steve, the world slowed to a hyper-focused pinpoint. He stared for what seemed like an eternity, then in slow motion he turned to see Tony. 

_Tony._

Blood bloomed from a place in his chest, his shoulder, and horrifyingly, his throat. Tony’s eyes were wide and stunned, and immediately locked to Steve’s. His hand was clamped to his throat, blood pouring freely between his fingers, face contorted in horrifying shock, then pain and fear. Then everything moved too fast.

Steve vaulted up onto the stage, just as Tony crumpled and stumbled backward, collapsing off the back of the platform and falling some six or more feet into a jumble of tables and sound equipment. Steve couldn’t get to him in time, and his gut turned to ice when he heard two sickening cracks.

 _“Tony!”_ he shouted, jumping down beside him, hands fluttering uselessly. Tony hit his head on the corner of a table the way down, a gash in his scalp matting his hair with blood and smearing garish red on the floor when Tony tried to move. The unnatural angle of his left leg indicated that it was broken. Tony stared up at Steve with wide eyes and pale lips, a gurgling sound coming from his mouth along with a sputter of blood.

“Oh my god, Tony, I’m here,” Steve mumbled frantically, ripping a piece of fabric off his shirt and pulling Tony’s hand from his throat, putting pressure on the hole that bled with alarming volume. “Jesus Christ! Someone call an ambulance!” he shouted, trying to flatten his forearm over the other two holes, attempting to put pressure on them both, cursing the fact that he didn’t have three hands.

“Steve…” Tony breathed, the word wet and choking, and he clutched at Steve’s shirt with his bloody hand with surprising strength. Steve’s heart raced. Tony’s pupils were two different sizes, unfocused. Concussed.

“It’s okay, Tone. We’re gonna get help,” he rambled, not even thinking about trying to find the shooter. “Just stay with me, okay? Stay with me, we’re gonna get you fixed up. Tony? _Tony!”_

Steve patted Tony’s cheek a little too hard, leaving a smear of blood against his unnervingly white skin, but Tony’s eyes blurred and rolled up. Steve’s breath came too fast, his heart racing too loud, adrenaline making him shaky as the panic poured over him like icy water. 

“Tony! God, wake up! C’mon, you gotta- gotta-“ Steve shouted, trying to check Tony’s pulse, until he was dragged away forcibly by several paramedics who obviously struggled against Steve’s strength and stubborn determination not to leave Tony’s side.

He stared helplessly as they stabilized Tony’s leg, pressing gauze to his wounds and lifting his limp body onto a backboard.

“Sorry, family only,” the paramedic in charge said firmly, planting his hand on Steve’s chest as soon as he made to climb into the ambulance. Steve gave him a withering look that could melt an iron girder, his mouth in a tight line of false calm.

“Son, I am an _Avenger_ , and so is he. I stay with my teammate. Do _not_ fight me on this, you will lose,” he said with careful threat, and glared the paramedic down as he slowly removed the man’s hand from his chest, pushing him to the side as if daring him to argue. Steve had no shame about playing the Captain America card, if it meant staying by Tony’s side, and he settled himself like an immovable boulder on the narrow bench beside Tony’s gurney, tightly holding his distressingly cool hand. 

The ride lasted an eternity and the terse orders of the paramedics blurred into a wash of white noise around him, and all Steve could do was stare at how pale Tony’s face was. How his lips were bluish and slack around the ventilating tube that had been forced into this throat. He was frozen and silent until the paramedic pushed at him and he tumbled out of the ambulance. He followed Tony’s gurney into the ER all the way to the door to the surgical wing, before the attending doctor pushed at his chest and told him he’d have to wait until Tony was out of surgery.

The door swung closed, and Steve stood weakly in the ER waiting area, just staring at the door with a hand-shaped blood print on his shirt and Tony’s blood covering his hands, until someone touched his shoulder gently turned him.

“Steve? We came as soon as we heard, I-“ Natasha paused, taking in the blood all over him and his shell-shocked expression.” Jesus, Steve… Have you heard anything yet?” she said, her face pinched and worried. Steve looked at her blankly for a moment, then shook his head. 

“No. They- he- he got shot. Three times, um. In the chest and shoulder, and uh, the neck,” Steve said feebly, feeling faint all of a sudden. Sam pushed up beside him, taking his arm. 

“Hey, c’mon, Steve. I think you need to sit down,” he said firmly, guiding Steve to the seating area, and Steve followed numbly and sank onto the uncomfortable chair like all the strength in his body had gone out of him. He rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his face into his hands, getting dried blood flecks on his cheeks. The others pulled up chairs around Steve.

“It happened so fast, I couldn’t- I didn’t even see anything, and then- he fell, and I didn’t-“ Steve mumbled, his breath getting faster, and Sam reached out, his hand grounding and warm as he rubbed Steve’s shoulder. 

“Hey, don’t you start taking the blame like you always do when one of us gets hurt,” he said quietly. “This wasn’t your fault. And you know Dr. Cho always gets us patched up good and sturdy. Tony wouldn’t let her touch him if he didn’t trust her completely.” Steve glanced up at Sam, only to be distracted by the TV on the wall, already covering the shooting and playing the footage of Tony being shot and falling off the stage over and over again. Steve felt like he was going to be sick.

“Oh god…” Steve mumbled, stumbling to his feet and lurching to the bathroom, where he barely made it to the toilet before throwing up everything he’d eaten in the last year. He slumped on his knees when he was done, tears streaming as he spit into the toilet. 

“C’mon man, let’s get you washed up,” Sam said gently as he pushed open the stall door, and Steve jumped a little, not even having heard him follow him in. Steve got to his feet unsteadily, letting Sam hold him firm with a strong, warm hand on his back. He let warm water run over his hands, watching rivulets tinted with red swirl down the drain. His mind was like static. Too much noise. But not enough to cover the what-ifs that shouted him down.

Sam waited patiently as Steve cleaned the blood off, rinsed his mouth, and washed his face. And when he returned to see that Rhodey had joined them, he was grateful that the others didn’t comment on his red eyes. Instead, his friends lingered comfortingly close to him, all of them fretting in their own ways. Steve sat rigid in the chair with his face in his hands, while they waited for Tony to come out of surgery.

It was hours. Steve didn’t move a muscle the whole time. Dr. Cho finally came out well after the windows had gone black with night. She wore a grim expression, and Steve’s heart skipped a beat as he shot out of his chair, his stiff back popping like firecrackers. The others were close behind.

“Is he…?” Steve breathed, his fists clenched, and Dr. Cho nodded.

“He’s in ICU. He had a lot of blood loss though, and the bullets hit some vital organs. He is stable, but still in very critical condition. You can all come with me to the ICU waiting area,” she said, opening another door and gesturing for them to enter. Steve positively sagged, making an almost inaudible noise of relief. 

He didn’t know what he’d do if Tony had died. It wouldn’t have been pretty.

They all followed Dr. Cho to the private waiting area, where there was a large window that overlooked the ICU med bay. Through it, they could see Tony in one of the beds with the curtain only partially drawn. He looked desperately small and frail bundled in bandages and blankets, surrounded by wires and IV bags and beeping monitors. 

Steve blanched. Tony was always filled with life. Vitality. He was vivid and loud and charming and a whirlwind of constant motion and brilliant thought and crackling energy, even in his brooding silences. He bled life into everyone around him, and all Steve could think of was how Tony had bled his life right out onto the floor of the conference room. 

And now Tony was so still, frighteningly so. Steve’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he strode to the ICU door, only to be stopped by two hands to his chest.

“Ah-ah, family only, teammates don’t count,” Dr. Cho said. “He’s only just come out of surgery, and he’s too weak to have you all crowding around him.” Natasha took Steve’s hand to pull him back, but he yanked it out of hers.

“He’s our friend, he’s not just- _let me in,”_ Steve said, trying to edge around Dr. Cho, his eyes fixed determinedly on the door, only to be stopped again, this time with a little shove.

“I said _family only,”_ she said firmly, frowning at Steve in what she probably thought was a very authoritative manner. Steve wilted, fists clenching white.

“Helen, _please,”_ Steve said softly, with not a little desperation. “He's my _husband.”_ His voice that still trembled despite his best efforts to keep it steady, and he was fighting very hard not to lose control and put his fist through the glass window and climb through it to Tony’s side. 

The others stared, and Steve knew they probably thought he was strategizing on the fly, making sure to find a way to get the details of Tony’s condition. And they _would_ think that, since neither Steve nor Tony had given the slightest public indication that they were anything more than close friends and teammates. Dr. Cho looked at him skeptically, and Steve leaned in to say a few words that were inaudible to the others, and she finally dropped her hands.

“All right. But just you.” She looked around Steve at the others, offering a sympathetic smile. “You can all wait out here. When he’s stable enough to be moved to a private room, you can see him then.” She opened the door to let Steve rush in first, following him and shutting the door behind her.

Steve jogged to Tony’s side, leaning over him. Thick bandages covered his throat and one side of his head where he’d cracked it on the corner of that table when he fell. The solid brace on his leg was visible under the blanket, and there were more bandages peeking out from the blanket covering Tony’s chest. An oxygen cannula looped under Tony’s nose, pressing into his pale cheeks. But Steve’s stomach dropped as he reached out and grazed his fingers over the rigid neck brace that held Tony’s head immobile. He looked at Dr. Cho, his eyes wide and unapologetically scared.

“He isn’t- he’s not… paralyzed, is he?” Steve breathed, immediately in fear that the bullet had gone through Tony’s spine, severing the nerves. He was already reeling, his breath quickening. Tony’s spirit would be _annihilated._ To have his ability to create, to be Iron Man, to build, taken away from him… Steve’s eyes burned at the thought, heart pounding in his throat. 

“No, hey. Steve, it’s all right, he’s not paralyzed. I just don’t want him turning his head and twisting the stitches out until the wound has begun to heal,” Dr. Cho said gently, and Steve made a pathetically relieved sound as he sagged into the chair beside Tony’s bed. He reached up and brushed a lock of Tony’s hair back gently, his other hand curled into a tight fist. 

“How bad is it?” Steve whispered. 

“It’s not good, but he’ll recover with some time and physical therapy,” Dr. Cho said, flipping to a page in Tony’s chart. “The lower bullet punctured his lung, and he developed pneumothorax- air in the chest cavity,” she amended when Steve looked at her for an explanation. “The oxygen is just to help him along until he can take a good lungful of air. The second bullet lodged in his shoulder and damaged some muscles in his rotator cuff. I don’t think he’ll need further surgery to correct it, but definitely extensive physical therapy.”

Steve looked at the neck brace again, then at Tony’s face, anxiety twisting in his stomach about how pale he was.

“And the neck?”

“Definitely the most serious. The bullet nicked the carotid artery, which supplies blood to the brain. His CT came back clean, so I’m confident that we were able to fix it before it could cause irreversible brain damage, although he may be a little fuzzy-headed for awhile, and probably won’t remember much of the incident. The blood loss was significant, and combined with a mild concussion and the broken tibia, he’s going to be laying in bed for quite awhile healing up.” Dr. Cho gave Steve a small, reassuring smile and squeezed his shoulder. “I know it sounds bad, but I really do think that soon enough the worst thing he’ll be dealing with is the abject boredom of bed rest,” she said.

Steve returned a weak smile, but his hands still trembled. A bullet to the _neck._ To the lung. How close had Tony come to getting shot in the heart? The arc reactor? The _head?_ How close had they- _he_ \- come to losing Tony? The words _irreversible brain damage_ echoed madly in his head, despite Dr. Cho’s reassurances. She patted his shoulder and assured Steve she would be close by, and left him to his thoughts.

Steve pushed the chair back and stood on shaky legs, bending over Tony and touching their foreheads, comfort flooding him at the scent of Tony’s skin and the humid warmth of his even breathing. Steve closed his eyes. 

“I’m here, sweetheart. It’s gonna be all right. You’re gonna be fine. You just take your time and rest, and I’ll be right here when you wake up,” Steve murmured just for Tony. “I love you so much, darling. You’re gonna be all right.” Steve pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to Tony’s forehead, cupping his cheek, completely indifferent to their friends who surely watched them with appraising eyes from the med bay window. 

Steve sank back into the chair, and took Tony’s hand tenderly in both of his. He kissed Tony’s knuckles, then pressed them to his forehead. Steve bowed his head and closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth of Tony’s hand, shutting out the steady beep of his heart monitor as he began to breathe a prayer. 

_Hail Mary, full of grace._  
_Our Lord is with thee_ …  
_Blessed art thou among women_ ,  
_and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus_ … 

He took comfort in the words, his lips moving silently as he recited the Hail Mary, pleading for her intercession on Tony’s behalf.

_Holy Mary, Mother of God,_  
_pray for us sinners_ ,  
_now and at the hour of our death_.  
_Amen_. 

Steve squeezed Tony’s hand in his, stroking his thumb over Tony’s knuckles. 

_Our Father, Who art in heaven_  
_Hallowed be Thy Name…_  


It was deeply intimate, quietly reverent, and profoundly comforting for Steve to pray over Tony. He was grateful that the nurses didn’t bother him, and he ignored their friends, hoping they would understand his need for privacy in this moment. He knew Tony might scoff if he saw Steve, but his eyes would be soft and grateful. After all, Steve had overheard Tony in more than one desperate moment with the Our Father on his lips.

He prayed through the Rosary, imagining the smooth, cool beads slipping through his fingers and making gentle clicking sounds as they gathered in his palm. Hours could have passed while Steve was devoted to his meditation, so he jumped, startled, when a nurse laid a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Captain, I have to ask you to step out while we check Mr. Stark’s bandages, he said gently. Steve nodded stiffly, not wanting to leave Tony’s side. He kissed Tony’s hand again and laid it on the bed, then gave him one more kiss on the forehead before stepping out of the ICU med bay. 

The others waited for him in the ICU waiting area, empty coffee cups littering the side tables around them. How long had Steve been in there? Natasha moved over so Steve could sit, and he did, silently. 

“Steve?” Natasha asked, and he looked at her, feeling shock starting to roll over him, now that he was away from Tony. Rhodey sat beside him, and Sam knelt in front of him, resting his hand on Steve’s forearm. 

“Steve? How is he?” Rhodey asked quietly, his brow furrowed with worry. Steve swallowed hard.

“It’s bad, he- he got really hurt, but. Helen says he’ll recover, he’ll- he’ll be fine,” Steve whispered, staring down at Sam’s hand on his forearm. He could feel the collective release of breath, the sagging of relief from his friends, all of them worried about Tony. 

“No permanent damage?” Natasha asked, and Steve shook his head.

“Not that they can tell. He’ll- he’ll need physical therapy and bed rest though…”

Immediately the mood lightened marginally. The others murmured in relief, making plans to take turns keeping Tony entertained while he healed, and to have Rhodey step in for Iron Man while Tony was grounded. They bitched roundly about the press and paparazzi already gathered around the hospital, waiting for them like vultures to catch a soundbite. Steve was silent through it all, staring at his laced fingers and white knuckles, until Sam nudged his shoulder good-naturedly.

“Man, you really played up the husbands thing in there,” Sam said. “Total commitment to the cover, had them goddamned convinced.”

Steve nodded at his hands, then completely unbidden, his face crumpled and he folded in on himself, burying his face in his hands as his shoulders shook silently. They all immediately fussed over him, and Steve hated it, wanted to run back to Tony. 

“Whoa! Hey, Steve, man, I didn’t mean to upset you, you were just doing what you had to do,” Sam said in a rush, worry pinching his face. Natasha rubbed his back between his shoulders.

“Steve, we saw the footage; no one could have seen that coming. It had already happened before anyone could even turn in their seat to look,” she said firmly, which only made Steve choke on a ragged breath.

“It’s not- I- Tony-“ he gasped thickly, but couldn’t get the words out. It wasn’t just that he cared for Tony. He _loved_ Tony. His life would be over without Tony. He wasn’t just playing up the husbands thing. And how could he tell his friends now, when he and Tony had hidden it for so long? He wilted further in on himself, letting out a soft, pathetic noise.

“Can someone please turn that shit off?” he finally muttered miserably, jerking his chin in the direction of the wall mounted TV across the room, where a 24-hour news channel on low volume played continual coverage of the shooting, identifying the shooter who was now in custody, speculating on the dire state of Tony’s condition and if he’d live through it, showing Tony covered in blood, his face stunned and mouth gasping for air as he fell from the stage. Steve saw himself in the footage, scrambling onstage what seemed like eons after Tony was shot. He could have gotten there sooner, he could have at least caught Tony so he wasn’t quite as hurt… 

Rhodey jumped up and went to the TV, not even bothering to find the off button, and just yanked the cord out of the wall a little too violently. He returned to his spot beside Steve, and silently offered Steve a box of tissues. Steve grunted gratefully and took a handful, wiping his splotchy face and wet eyes and blowing his nose.

“I- he’s in a neck brace, my heart just stopped… I thought he’d been paralyzed,” Steve whispered. “But Helen said she just didn’t want him turning his head and twisting out the stitches.” He relayed what Dr. Cho had told him, having to pause now and then for deep breaths, but he managed to get himself under control and put on a grim, determined face. It was the face of their captain staring down a long battle, not the face of a husband hurting over his beloved. They all looked up when they heard the waiting area door open.

“Captain, you can come back in,” the nurse said, poking his head into the waiting area. Steve Stood so fast he almost knocked Sam on his ass, and muttered an apology as he rushed back into the ICU, the others trailing behind him to watch from the window. Steve nearly bowled over a nurse and at least two equipment carts to make it to Tony’s side, only to find him unchanged. He bent and kissed his forehead again. 

“I’m back, sweetheart,” he murmured, sitting again and taking Tony’s limp hand in his as he sat in the chair. This time, instead of praying, he spoke to Tony in a low, gentle voice, hoping his words would get into the fog that kept Tony from waking.

“You know, I was just thinking about our wedding the other day,” he murmured, letting himself get a little lost in the sweet memory. “You were so beautiful. Your hair was getting a little long, and it made these precious curls in the back. I love when you let it grow out like that. You had those ridiculous sunglasses on, but you took them off for me because I wanted to see your eyes.”

Tony always had more than one kind of armor. One was a gold-titanium suit, and the other was a bespoke gabardine three-piece with sunglasses that matched the tint of his tie, and a dazzling smile that enchanted reporters so much that they never quite noticed that it didn’t meet his eyes. But at their wedding, Tony had stripped away all his armor for Steve.

“I’ve never seen your smile so shy, I felt so small compared to how much you loved me. Tony, it was the happiest day of my life.” Steve was sniffling again. “I just need you to come back to me, sweetheart. We’ll get through this together, and you’ll be all better, and… and maybe we can share this with our friends, too…” Steve wiped his face, closing his eyes. “God, Tony, I love you so much. I love you so that I can’t breathe when you’re not around. I love you, I love you, _I love you…”_

Steve had Tony’s hand pressed to his lips now, and was murmuring warm memories into his calloused skin, when Tony’s fingers twitched and Steve’s head shot up. Tony’s eyes were open. Bleary, but watching Steve with those same soft eyes and the tiniest smile.

“Tony,” Steve murmured earnestly, leaning in. 

“Luuh,” Tony breathed roughly. Steve’s hand fluttered over Tony’s forehead. 

“Hey, don’t try to speak, sweetheart, you have a concussion. You’re going to be fine, but you’re pretty roughed up. You just need a lot of rest,” Steve said, quick to reassure Tony. Tony’s eyes drifted in and out of focus, and he squeezed Steve’s hand weakly.

“Luuh- I lo-oove you, too,” Tony slurred, obviously struggling to stay focused between the sedatives and the concussion. He smiled so slightly, and Steve beamed at him, damning tears streaming again. He bent and kissed Tony fully on the mouth, his cheeks red and heart soaring when Tony kissed him back, however weakly, raising his hand shakily to touch Steve’s cheek.

When he pulled away, he kept Tony’s hand in his and continued to talk to him, sweet memories of their first “real” date, and almost getting caught making out in the gym locker room, and the stupid and precious flower crowns that Jarvis had surreptitiously ordered from a florist for Steve and Tony’s wedding, when Tony had told him they were skipping town to get married upstate. 

He laughed softly at the ridiculous gag order that the justice of the peace had to sign before he could marry them, to keep it out of the public eye. He talked about the vacation they had coming up in the Alps in a few months, and promised Tony he would be all better by then and could at least go sledding, if not skiing. He promised he’d even let Tony sled in his shield, if only to get a little ghost of a smile on Tony’s lips.

Tony drifted in and out of sleep the whole time, never speaking, but squeezing Steve’s hand when he was coherent enough to do so. Steve glanced up now and then, and there was always at least one of their friends watching through the window, concerned, but quick to flash a thumbs up and a smile when Steve caught their eye.

_________________________

When Tony was finally stable enough to be moved to a private room, he was capable of speaking full sentences and remaining lucid, even if only for short periods of time. And Steve was unspeakably grateful that Tony’s memory of the shooter’s accusations was too fuzzy to remember. He was certain Tony would heal faster if he wasn’t saddled with searing guilt, too.

As soon as Tony was settled, the nurse let their friends in, and they spilled into the room in a jumble of flower arrangements and balloons.

“Look…. look at the faces on you guys. I didn’t even have to be… defibrillated this time,” Tony said very slowly, his voice rough and pained, but his eyes sparkling. Steve groaned and dropped his face into his hand, and the tension broke. The others gathered around Tony, laughing and kissing and hugging him, careful of his bandages and neck brace. Tony already looked exhausted by the time they took their seats, and Steve held his hand, their fingers laced together. Sam narrowed his eyes, and cut right to the chase.

“So?” he asked. Tony and Steve exchanged a glance. 

“So what?” Steve hedged. Sam rolled his eyes.

“So how come last time I got hit on an op, you didn’t pretend to be my husband and hold hands with me and kiss me tenderly and tell me everything would be all right while you cried into your Cheerios?” Sam asked mildly. Natasha slapped him on the arm. Tony squeezed Steve’s hand and Steve jutted his chin defiantly.

“Because I’m not married to you,” he said, and there was an immediate commotion.

“I knew it!” Natasha and Rhodey gloated simultaneously, and Sam rolled his eyes.

“You don’t know shit. You all didn’t even suspect until you saw them kiss,” he said right back, and Natasha and Rhodey just beamed like they’d always wanted them to get together, and their wish was finally coming true.

“How long, Tone?” Rhodey asked, cutting over Sam. Tony smiled, his eyes on Steve. 

“Since it was legal,” he said softly. Steve returned his adoring gaze, not looking away until Sam pointedly cleared his throat.

“So why the secret?” Natasha asked, expression almost offended, and Steve could guess it was because they hid it right under her nose and she never suspected. Steve shrugged a shoulder, his cheeks pink.

“We didn’t want to be public yet. Didn’t want to affect the team dynamic. Didn’t want to damage the public perception of the Avengers. We, um-“

“We just wanted… something private to ourselves for a little bit,” Tony finished for him hoarsely. All of them seemed to soften.

“Steve, Tony,” Rhodey said with heavy sincerity. “We’d never think less of you for something like this. And we’ll all have your backs if you decide to go public. We’re not just a disparate team of colleagues, you damn boneheads. We’re your friends. We love you both.”

Steve was humbled as Natasha and Sam nodded their agreement, and he felt an overwhelming surge of emotion. 

“I- thank you,” he finally said, not knowing what else to say. 

“My usual pithy retorts currently escape me,” Tony whispered by way of thanks, eliciting snorts and exasperated eyerolls. A tired smirk played at the corner of Tony’s mouth as his eyes slid closed, and Steve stood so he could kiss Tony, peppering his face before finally pressing their lips together. 

“I love you, Tone. Don’t be an asshole,” he murmured affectionately, and Tony chuckled softly, wincing a little as he did.

“Oops, guess it just slipped out,” he breathed. Steve smiled against his lips.

“You just rest, sweetheart. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”


End file.
